The Lion and the Wolf ~ Game of Thrones

10

King's Landing.

Visenya Targaryen.

Through the high, narrow windows of the cavernous throne room, noon's light spilt across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of dragons once hung. Now, the stone was covered with hunting tapestries in vivid greens and browns and blues, yet the blood of the stonemasons, woodworkers, and builders who the Cruel had put to death so that only he would know the Red Keep's secrets still seemed to pulse within the stone.

I sat on the highest step beneath the ancient seat of Aegon the Conqueror, an ironwork monstrosity of twisted blades and jagged barbs, blackened by the heat of Balerion's flames in the forging. It was a throne that could kill a man. And had, if the tales could be believed.

Faintly, the quietest urging, I heard a dozen whispers telling me to climb that last step and settle onto the Iron Throne that should have been my father's, my brother's, my sister's—the throne that should have been mine. But I ignored it for now, instead twirling the dagger my mother had left for me beneath her tomb. It was Valyrian steel, beautiful in the sense of its easy simplicity, with ripples in the dark steel that seemed to writhe when they caught the light.

The private door behind the throne opened. The clangour of armour and the tapping of boots echoed through the hall and rudely tore through the silence. The Lion of Lannister appeared at the foot of the throne, looking up at me. Those cat-green eyes had recognised me that day outside the old man's cabin.

"Shouldn't you be with my sister?" Jaime Lannister asked with his signature smirk. "Or are you two still quarrelling? Is it not difficult for a sworn sword to perform her duties if she refuses to speak to her lady?"

I glanced up from my dagger. I'd thought of using the tunnels to sneak into his chambers and slit his throat with it that day when he'd returned before the rest of the party, or arrange for an accident, or have a little song reach Robert so I didn't have to get my hands dirty. But every one of those would cause Joanna heartache, so I'd refrained. Even in my misery, I'd thought of her first—that was just how much I treasured her.

"Of course she told you about that," I sighed, turning the dagger in my hand. "I shouldn't have expected otherwise." A frown almost appeared on my brow as I added, "She adores you."

"Guilty as charged," Lannister chuckled. "What happened?"

As if I'd tell him anything. This was the man who'd killed my grandfather, mad as Aerys was. He'd sat on the throne in an unseemingly act of impertinence afterwards, watching the blood pool around the Mad King's body. Or, at least that was what everyone said had happened, but now there was the fact that Rhaenys Targaryen was alive to consider. I'd thought about it, over and over, for a week without rest—Barristan Selmy had been on the Trident, so he hadn't been able to rescue my sister, though I did not doubt he was guarding her nowadays, and the Spider would have needed a fighter to cleave through the Lannister soldiers storming the castle on that horrible day...

I hadn't had the nerve to demand the whole story from the Spider, because some part of me knew what had occurred to conceal my sister's survival, and I didn't think I had the strength not to rage over it.

"Did the girl die quickly?" I heard myself asking. "The one you played off as my sister?" All amusement vanished from his face. Jaime climbed the dais and sat on the steps close to the bottom, his white cloak spilling down the rest like a bed of snow. "Was she already dead? There were thousands killed during the sack. I hear lions don't discriminate."

A testiness crept into the knight's voice. "Some lions," he said, meaning his father, his sister, his bastard son who I'd happily see dead, "are monstrous to the core." He sent a glance over his shoulder at me. "I consider myself lucky not to be one of them. It was a girl whose mother smothered her rather than see her raped by my father's rabid dogs."